Today I’m going to talk about what is possibly the most important relationship in my life right now. That is, I’m going to write a sonnet to my sex blog, because fucking hell, I love it. In fact, it probably deserves a much more impressive poem than this one, which scribbled on the back of a tube map earlier this evening.
I wanted to write a funny story
or find something profound to say
instead I’m running out of time
if I want to publish a blog post today.
It’s Valentine’s day, so I could talk
about how I prefer piss to roses
or I could write something about all the ways I fuck:
maybe a post with my top ten sex poses?
Instead I’m going to write a sonnet
(and piss folks off by using that word wrong*)
to my sweet sex blog – because, honestly?
Is any other relationship this strong?
My blog is my other half, my better half
in a way I’d never describe a partner
I pour into it my heart, again and again
and then wear my work like armour.
I write on the train, I write in coffee shops,
I write when I really shouldn’t be
and the more I post on my silly little blog
the less it feels at all silly.
I don’t think I’m going to change the world
with just what I write here
But because I blog I’ve found my voice
And speak out with much less fear.
It saved me – at least to some extent –
when the dark thoughts overwhelmed me
it’s a coping mechanism for my depression, sure
but I can dare to hope it’s healthy.
My blog is part of me these days
it’s a part of my fucking soul
I can’t imagine not working to keep it beating
not working towards my goal.
So even when running out of time
to stick to my blogging schedule
I’ll open my laptop and start to write:
it’s unescapable; essential.
I fall in love too much, too quick
but with my blog it’s utterly ok
if it’s the first thing and the last thing
I think of every single day.
Fingers tapping keys like love letters
written entirely in morse code
I don’t know where my blog will take me
but it’s already become my home.
*Yes, I have taken huge liberties with this word and used it to mean poetry in general rather than the specific poetic verse form it really that is its technical definition. The alliteration of ‘sex blog sonnet’ was too tempting, and it’s hard to write a fourteen-line poem in iambic pentameter with a strict rhyming scheme about how much you love sharing stories about your vagina with the internet.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.